VOICES | In The Trenches
by Logan Lynn
The Closet Trip
A trip to middle America for a family reunion leads this couple back to to the closet door, old fears, and worry about the others out there.
My partner and I took a trip to South Dakota this past summer to
celebrate my grandfather’s 100th birthday. Before the trip began,
we talked about how my extended family on my mother’s side had
always been very accepting of me (and my gayness) in theory, but
that I had never taken a man “home” and been around all of them
while in relationship to test it out. Somewhere in me I knew that
everything would be fine with all of them, just as it has been with
my immediate family for years, so I didn’t think much more of it.
Almost immediately upon our plane landing in Rapid City, it was clear
that we were not in Portland anymore. The woman at the rental car place
made some snide comment about how only I could drive the car unless
we were “married or domestic partners” which then made her laugh out
loud. Imagine – two men married to each other? Ha!
Rushmore, which was boring and hideous, but most of the people there
were from other parts of the world visiting that particular landmark so,
once again, the experience of our otherness was masked with at least the
appearance of diversity.
As the family reunion love fest was drawing to a close, we decided that we
would go exploring deep in the Black Hills and eat biscuits and gravy at
this country diner that everyone had been telling us was so delicious, way
out in the middle of nowhere. As we drove through the canyon the land
was stunning, but we both lost reception on our phones. I shrugged it off
and we just kept going. (I was really excited for gravy, OK?!)
When we arrived at the diner and were being seated I noticed that every
other table in the restaurant had their eyes on us. They were all staring.
Every one of them … and neither of us had any way to call for help. I’m
sure we weren’t actually in grave danger as it felt, but I started playing
the theme song from Deliverance in my head and couldn’t help but flash
back to my own violent experience growing up gay in a rural farm town.
We ate quickly and booked it out of there, back to the safety of cellular
reception - but something disturbing happened to us both there that day
which has lingered. It’s almost like we brought ghosts of that palpable big-
otry back to Portland with us or something. We’ve chatted about it since
and keep circling around the conclusion that at least some parts of us were
forced back in the closet on the trip for self-protection, and those recently
re-closeted parts are having to be intentionally coerced back out, even now
that we are home in the safety of our affirming surroundings.
By the time we arrived at the hotel we were exhausted and it was late. We
chatted with my parents for a bit and then went to sleep. The next morn-
ing we woke up early and traveled to the Badlands, where we spent most
of the day. The land was magical and our interaction with people was
sparse. We hung out, took photos, and tried not to touch the very cute
prairie dogs (which carry plague, come to find out).
We spent the weekend hanging out with all the people who have ever
loved me in the world. It was really great for me to get to share them
with the man I love, and him with them. My family all celebrated our
relationship and welcomed him into the fold without batting an eyelash.
It was extraordinary.
Family aside, I could tell some of the hotel staff and patrons were either
afraid of my floral bike cap or the anal sex it implied, but no one both-
ered us and I didn’t feel unsafe. At one point we decided to go to Mt.
12
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It’s striking to me that as professionally and publicly out as we both are,
depending on where we find ourselves in the world, homophobia can still
reach us, still change us - even if just for a moment. Suppose you are
lucky enough to be surrounded by familial love and acceptance (as we
were), chances are still pretty good that the townspeople want to tie you
and your partner to a fence and leave you both for dead.
So, we peel back the sad layers of fear, which have attached themselves
to our love and life while traveling through middle America together,
and we move on – but I can’t help feeling worried about our brothers and
sisters living in that part of the country who we’ve left behind. What will
become of them? Is the only option for an LGBT person to be free in the
United States to live somewhere coastal? What responsibility do we have
as queer people in progressive communities to reach out to those living
in non-affirming communities? I’m not sure what the answer is, but I
look forward to a day where we can be our openly queer selves safely no
matter where we are in the country. §
Logan Lynn writes In The Trenches for Just Out. He is a Portland based musician, activist,
writer, and is a regular contributor to The Huffington Post.
Reach him at Logan@JustOut.com
November 2012